The Good Lord gave him his fully-functional legs, his Fletcher Aztecs gave him THE patented micro-grip technology.

And Luke would need both in order to scale the steep backcountry slopes. ‘Course, maybe Luke wouldn’t rely on his boots much. It was conceivable his hunt would lead him down into a meadow, half-mile from his Dodge Ram. There was no predicting how a hunt could unfold out there in the forest. Mother Nature sure could spin you around if you buried your face too far in Her bosom. But if you had the Garmin Huntview GPS like Luke did, at least you were motorboatin’ with a life vest on. So the human set off into the sticks with unwavering faith in his heart, and a Coleman Aquaglow XP lamp on his head, just in case. As the hunter was about to find out, the harvest was a delicate balance between Jesus Christ and Cabelas. 

Camping four miles deep in the backcountry wasn’t recommended for a novice like Luke. But, after he filled his Yeti coffee growler, he balanced out the odds with a quick prayer. “Through Him all things are possible.” A sign of the cross later, he set off towards a ridgeline he planned to summit before sunrise. 2.3 miles away, they smelt him coming. Vinnie blew a snotrocket onto a columbine at full bloom. Luke’s chemical bouquet of detergent, shampoo, toothpaste, sunscreen, deodorant, gum, coffee, creamer, and commercial elk urine was overwhelming for the mature bull. The 800-pound animal got up and sought a bed a couple of ridges over. His pal, Hairy Tom, wasn’t far behind.

Later that afternoon the bulls first put an ass to the stank.

Luke squatted on a ridgeline and pinched a loaf just as the thermals changed. The hunter’s post-Mountain House abomination alerted the entire valley of his presence and he bumped three cows, two deer, and a rare albino fox down the hillside. None of which Luke noticed. On day two of the hunt, the elk laughed in their beds all afternoon as Luke sat on a glassing tit with his cow call. Not only was it a month too early for an estrous call, but the hunter’s particular cadence, was, quite frankly, unfuckable for any self-respecting bull. Vinnie dabbed tears from his eyes and hooved his ribs when Luke pulled out his Predator Ultra tube, and started up his bugling routine. The man’s wails echoed through the valley until the golden hour, and as Luke hiked back to camp that night, he was ridiculed by every creature he encountered. Squirrels chattered. Birds shat. Spiders spun face-high webs. With no other people in the quarry-rich woods, Luke became the punchline of the forest-wide joke.

But the human persisted, and took full advantage of his divine preference, thanking the Lord in advance for his glorious harvest. When Luke fell down it was, “Lord lift me up.” When he shivered at night it was “Lord keep me warm.” With storms fast approaching it was, “Lord keep me dry.” And when his Falcon Optic binoculars tumbled out of his Rattlesnake Pro chest-harness and split in half, Luke persevered with a “Lord be my eyes.” When faced with difficulty, he dialed up God time and time again. And on night six of the hunt, the bulls watched Luke’s headlamp weave in and out of the valley like a drunk firefly on a joyride home. His legs jelly, his core rock solid. This time there were no more laughs from Vinnie or Hairy Tom. No more bugle impressions from Cow Pumper. There was something other than Luke in the air, and the elk settled in for a restless night.

On the seventh day, a painful scream boomed through the canyon at sunrise. Luke was in trouble.

While typically instinct leads elk away from such danger, the boys just couldn’t help themselves, and they went to check-in on poor ol’ Luke. The ungulates descended down the hillside, and behind the cover of dark timber, their gaze stretched out and onto the Lord’s boy. Exhausted, dehydrated, bloodied, and feet betrayed by his Fletcher Aztecs, Luke looked to the heavens in desperation. “The Lord upholdeth all that fall, and raiseth up all those who bow down.” Then Luke collapsed and surrendered to an emotional release unheard of in the Animal Kingdom.

And so, the Lord appeared. And approached the three elk under the canopy of needles. Cow Pumper gulped and Hairy Tom winced as The Almighty gave them thorough exams. Only one would be worthy of a harvest like this. After deliberation, the Lord took off His halo and put it around Vinnie’s neck. With the divine reins He led the animal down towards the faithful man. A raven’s caw played the bell’s toll and The Good Lord promised Vinnie everlasting pastures on the other side of things. Then God turned the bull broadside, and snapped a twig with His sandals. Luke removed his Under Armour glove system from his face, to bear witness to the miracle. A Boone & Crocket bull, Pope & Young for sure, a real frickin’ dandy, only ten yards away.

With the hands the Good Lord had gifted him, Luke grabbed his Hoyt Carbon Defiant bow, nocked a Thundercracker M80 twin blade arrow, and pulled back to full draw with his Cobra Tru-Fire back tension release.

Vinnie stood brave and proud in the morning light and Luke whispered to God for last looks. “Dear Lord...” Before he could finish, God spanked Vinnie and the mighty bull lowered his head and charged Luke. Vinnie closed the distance before the hunter could react, and the bull pierced his brow-tine into Luke’s side. Antler ripped up arteries, velvet crushed through valves. A trophy rack tracheotomy. Vinnie withdrew his horns and a pile of human organs flopped to the Earth and peppered a plague of gnats. The heart and both lungs with one single lunge. An ethical hit by all accounts, just what you hope for. Luke’s eyeballs rolled back into his skull and he gargled to death on crimson foam. Then Luke’s soul exited his breathable infrared compression pants, and the Lord escorted him off the premises.

The magpies and wasps afforded the man a moment of silence, before entering his every orifice and eating him inside out. Cow Pumper managed a melancholy bugle, and the proceedings came to an end. It wasn’t easy, but the bulls knew it was the right thing to do. When God calls, you better pick up. The Lord was the Shepherd of the land, after all. And if you couldn’t trust in Him to manage a human population, where could the elk possibly turn? Culling the herd was a critical tool for the Lord, and Luke would be survived by a healthy, well-maintained species. Still, despite the happy ending, it was with heavy hearts that the bulls upheld their next tradition, and sucked the balls off of Luke’s corpse in a fertility prayer.

Soon the three bachelor elk would have to separate for the rut. Their camaraderie, put on ice. Testosterone would blind them and they’d become enemies for the right to breed the most cows. But hopefully, after dick-slinging season was over, they could all wipe the cum from their eyes and reflect on this special day again. A day that presented them the rare opportunity to act with bravery, instead of spooking like a bunch of coward whitetails. As promised, a cool breeze found the bulls and pulled them up to the highroad, where they looked down upon an endless emerald meadow. Compliments of the Lord. So, with the last beads of morning dew on their breath, the elk toiled not, and tongue-fricked the daisies and sweetgrass until their mid-day nap.

CREDITS: MUSIC

ValentinSosnitskiy: “Acoustic guitar of Valentin Sosnitskiy”

Jason Aldean: “Burnin’ It Down”

Redafs: “Transitions & Movement » Slide Guitar 1”

Nicolasdrweski: “guitar slide”

FoolBoyMedia: “Ocean Drift”

Klankbeeld: “choir HALLELUJAH”

Klankbeeld: “choir Christe - Christe adoramus te - Claudio Monteverdi 140928”

Setuniman “Hallelujah-0t32v2”